


Munched

by borrisbear



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: ?? - Freeform, Belly Rubs, Drugs, M/M, Michael takes care of his boyf, Nightmares, Stomach Ache, Weed, Whump, and his boyf is very embarrassed, anxious boy gets high and gets a little snack crazy, major comfort and cuddling, this is just fluffy and dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22771465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrisbear/pseuds/borrisbear
Summary: Usually, it's a pretty uneventful night when Jeremy decides to smoke up with Michael. Then again, he usually isn't super hungry going into the evening and he accidentally snacks a little more than usual. Thankfully, Michael is there to supply plenty of cuddles and rubs.
Relationships: Jeremy Heere/Michael Mell
Comments: 3
Kudos: 67





	Munched

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhh i guess emeto warning? theres no throwing up at all, just like nausea but i thought i should have a warning still
> 
> this is literally just cheesy dumb fluff i just wanted Cuddles

  
  


“Ohhh,  _ shit.” _

He watched, faintly amused, as Michael calibrated the trajectory once more, then deployed his virtual bowling ball. The ball smashed triumphantly into only one of the pins, which spun across the lane and knocked over another, leaving him with an impressive score of two. Michael cheered his Mii on in spite of his poor performance and rolled lazily onto his back from his place at the foot of the sofa futon to shoot his boyfriend a sloppy finger-gun. “I still got it.”

“I don’t think you have Wii-bowling powers,” Jeremy retorted flatly. Whenever Michael smoked while his Wii was still hooked up to the basement television, he would have an overwhelming urge to play Wii Sports bowling, absolutely convinced that he had mastered the game. He would painstakingly adjust his stance, flip perspectives, calibrate his aim for literal minutes—and inevitably bowl a gutter ball. Since he was also certain that he could actually  _ feel  _ the bowling ball in his Mii’s hand when he did this, there wasn’t a doubt in Jeremy’s mind that this conviction was drug-fueled. 

“I so have Wii-bowling powers.” Michael used his Wii-mote to slide the half-eaten package of Chips Ahoy over to his side and scooped a few cookies out. “You want any more?”

“Mm-mm.” He had smoked his own share of Michael’s stash earlier that evening, allowing himself some very generous puffs with the intention of burning off the week’s stress and frustrations. Although he’d been successful on that frontier, he had also dove into Michael’s  _ other  _ stash of junk food with uncharacteristic fierceness, so high that he felt like he’d never eaten before in his life and the only solution was to stuff his face with Bugles. Given he usually didn’t have much of an appetite due to anxiety, his brief attack of munchies had made him go a little snack-crazy and now his stomach was aching ruefully. Most of the pleasant effects of smoking had faded by now and he mostly just felt drowsy, gross, and weird.

Michael tilted his head, visibly concerned by how faded his boyfriend seemed. “You okay?”

“Just kinda tired, I guess,” Jeremy assured him with a pale smile. He didn’t necessarily think Michael would tease or resent him for giving himself a stomach ache in the stupidest, most childish way possible, but he really did not want to bring any attention to it. As much as he loathed being fussed over and coddled—especially over something so embarrassing—he hated the idea of placing responsibility for something that was essentially his own fault on Michael even more. 

His expression softened with affection. “You wanna just call it a night, then? We can go up to my room and sleep on, like, an actual bed if you’d rather.”

“No, no, it’s totally okay. I’m comfy here, really. I… I’m happy just watching you,” he admitted sheepishly. The futon really was comfortable and where he’d been planning on spending the night anyway: he was content to not move at all until mid-morning.

“Oh, wow, so I’m just that charming and cool,” Michael replied, voguing mindlessly with the Wii-mote still in hand. Once he’d gotten a laugh, he shot Jeremy another kind glance. “Seriously though, dude. If you need something or you’ve had enough, just let me know. You can, like, ask for stuff.”

“I know,” he lied, pulling the blankets over his lap. “I’m good.”

Michael stared back at him for a long moment, as if trying to figure out exactly what was bothering him from his tense body language alone, then reached out to squeeze his foot. “You are good. Now, watch me bowl a fucking turkey in Wii-bowling.”

While Michael tried his stoned hand once more at bowling, Jeremy settled back against the cushions and tucked the heavy, knitted blankets up to his sternum so he could surreptitiously lace his hands over his middle. His stomach was typically so flat that it caved in under his ribs, but now it was pushing out into a mild, firm curve. He shifted to find the most bearable position for his overfull belly, then laid his head down, trying to ignore everything that wasn’t the soft fabric or the familiar chords of the Wii Sports theme. A hazy, restless sleep washed over him in shallow waves, never quite pulling him into a truly restorative slumber. It was like trying to float calmly on his back on troubled waters.

Like most times he smoked up, he started dreaming senselessly. He dreamed of being in the basement with Michael and in the school hallways and in his own bedroom, visuals that seemed so real that he couldn’t believe when the environment shifted again. Nobody was speaking, but everything was so horribly wrong in subtle, imperceptible ways that he couldn’t articulate. Fear surged through him, holding him under the water without granting him the chance to come up for air. If he looked up, he would be there and there would be so much fucking  _ pain  _ and he couldn’t let it happen, he couldn’t let any of this happen again, he had to  _ run,  _ but he was drowning, he was drowning, he was drowning—

“Aah!”

Jeremy jolted into a sitting position with a gasp, acutely aware of his body shaking and his arm wrapped protectively around his stomach. There was a sting of acid in the back of his throat; his head was spinning. He wanted to relax if only to relieve the awful tension locking his muscles in place, but he couldn’t ground himself or even forget the terror of his nightmare. Shivering, he shut his eyes and tried not to throw up.

“Hey, hey… Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay Jer, I’m right here.” Michael’s familiar voice penetrated the cloud of fear still surrounding him, allowing Jeremy to place his surroundings and exhale a shallow breath. Nothing he had dreamed was real—anymore, at least—and Michael was safe, Michael was nearby. A hand settled on his shoulder, then circled around his quivering frame. “You’re okay, man, it’s all okay.”

“M’sorry. I… I’m sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, dude. Just breathe, it’s all gonna be okay…” 

After a minute of steady breathing, Jeremy felt less like the world was ending and more like a sweaty, exhausted, disgusting teenage boy on a futon, which was slightly better. He leaned back, then shuddered in spite of himself as his stomach cramped again. His belly was really upset now, the nightmare having twisted his guts up with indigestion.

Michael rubbed his shoulders comfortingly. “Are you feeling sick, man? You’re… Your stomach was making some pretty ‘Apocalypse of the Damned’ noises while you were sleeping. No offense, you know.”

“I… My stomach’s just hurting a little,” he murmured bashfully. He was too tired to bother coming up with a decent excuse for the admittedly horrific gurgles escaping his middle.

A frown crossed his face and he touched his boyfriend’s pale cheek, urging him to meet his eyes. “Can I get you something? I know you hate being sick, but I can, like, get a bowl if you think you might.”

“No, I’m not… It-It’s not like that,” Jeremy said, even though he definitely felt more than a little queasy. “It just… hurts.”

“Pepto, maybe? It’s the munchies cure-all, you know,” Michael joked gently, trying to get a smile out of the boy. Instead, Jeremy stared down at his lap and started fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweatshirt; the tips of his ears went bright-red. “Hey. It’s okay, Jer, seriously, you haven’t done anything wrong, you know? It’s really okay.”

“It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not. Dude, you know how many times I’ve nearly died of Dorito overdose, it’s not a big deal at all. I just wish you’d told me earlier, you didn’t have to sit here miserable all that time. I’m gonna grab you some Pepto and some water, okay? Just sit tight.” Michael leaned in to kiss him, hoping it would reassure him that he absolutely wasn’t about to think less of him for being in pain, then headed upstairs to the kitchen.

In his absence, Jeremy readjusted the blankets around him and curled up on his side, closing his eyes with a soft sigh. He was feeling a bit better now that his head and heart had calmed from the nightmare, but his belly still throbbed relentlessly with a tight, hot pain that had him searching for a position that wouldn’t make everything start churning again. The churning was a little more than he could take right now.

When he heard the rhythmic thumps of Michael descending the basement staircase, a grateful grin touched his mouth. He wasn’t exactly happy that Michael had pegged the origins of his stomach ache nearly instantly or that his stomach had betrayed him in his sleep, but he couldn’t help feeling less anxious and terrible knowing he didn’t have to hide the discomfort any longer. Before he could open his eyes and greet him, something soft and warm came into contact with his middle; his eyelids fluttered open in surprise, then relief. “Mm…”

“I finally know why my mom keeps that bean bag near the microwave. Apparently, it’s a heating pad, not a… bean bag. You know, like a himbo would think,” Michael added, tucking the small cushion against his stomach. “Can you sit up a minute to drink? I swear, water’ll make you feel ten times better.”

Jeremy obeyed, sitting up to take the plastic cup of Pepto, then a few sips from the water glass. As much as he didn’t want to put anything else in his already overtaxed stomach, he trusted Michael and admittedly enjoyed washing the taste of acid and synthetic cheese out of his mouth. Once he was done, he laid back down to press the heating pad back to the tense center of his belly; the warmth felt absolutely wonderful. “Thanks, Mikey. I… It’s dumb, but I was worried you’d be, like… I dunno. Mad, I guess.”

“Me? Mad? You’ve got me wrapped around your finger,” Michael teased, reclining on the mattress next to him. “But, seriously. I’d never be mad over you feeling bad, not ever. I just want to make you feel better, you know? There’s nothing… I don’t know, embarrassing about being human. Me and you have seen everything, there’s nothing you can do to scare me off.”

“Still.” He was blushing faintly. “I just want to say thanks.”

“Well, you’re very welcome. Now, come here, man. Let me see if I can help at all.”

Michael’s soft, loving hands slid beneath the blanket and the hem of his sweatshirt, recovering his bloated belly. He tensed briefly before realizing just how nice even that light pressure was against his stomach; he relaxed against Michael’s touch. Once his hands were accepted, he started rubbing his palm down the center of his belly, first moving to unclench the still rigid muscles there, then stroking his hand in soothing circles along his lower-stomach. The rhythm seemed to ease some of the pain, prompting him to hold the heating pack to his upper-belly and continue the rubbing arrangement with the other to settle the uneasy contents of his stomach. 

After a few minutes, the sharp cramps and sweaty churning had completely subsided, leaving only the dull ache of overeating behind. Jeremy nuzzled his cheek against the pillow, feeling comfortable for the first time all night in Michael’s arms. In addition to the hands pressed to his belly, Michael had settled his brow against the back of Jeremy’s head; the steady stream of his breaths against his neck was infinitely reassuring. He snuggled deeper into the blankets with another sigh, this one of relief.

“That feeling okay?” Michael asked.

“It feels really good,” he mumbled gratefully into the pillow. “Thank you, Mikey.”

“I told you these are gifted hands.” He kissed the nape of his boyfriend’s neck. “You think you can sleep? You probably need it.”

“Mm… Don’t want more shitty dreams,” he replied, already half-asleep from the drowsy warmth of Michael’s body and the heating pad. 

“I’ll be right here if you do. I’m not going anywhere, dude, I swear.”

His heart glowed with a love that had him smiling sleepily and he summoned the last of his energy to turn his head, kiss his boyfriend, and situate a hand over Michael’s own. “I love you.”

The hands kept rubbing gingerly, staving off nightmares long enough for him to settle into a dreamless slumber. “I love you more.”

  
  



End file.
